


Danse Macabre

by Vinitharius



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, F/F, FrostLich!Jaina, screw the canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 16:56:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17666474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vinitharius/pseuds/Vinitharius
Summary: The Scourge Invasion goes differently...Or What happens if Sylvanas's and Jaina's roles were reversed.





	Danse Macabre

**Author's Note:**

> Hello. I don’t usually write, and I probably shouldn’t be writing for Warcraft as I know jack all about its lore. However, around new years people fed me an idea, and I wanted to take a crack at it.
> 
>  
> 
> **Tags are subject to change**
> 
>  
> 
> “How could it end like this?  
> There's a sting in the way you kiss me  
> Something within your eyes  
> Said it could be the last time  
> 'Fore it's over!
> 
> Just wanna be  
> Wanna bewitch you in the moonlight  
> Just wanna be  
> I wanna bewitch you all night”  
> Dance Macabre - Ghost

The night was falling as a Farstrider scout came in from Lordaeron. The camp was ablaze with life. Elves bustled about preparing for war against the Scourge. Rangers were busying themselves with fletching arrows and resupplying the camp. 

As he got closer to the Ranger-General’s tent, he noticed the activity dwindled. He heard a sharp whistle and a voice call out to him. 

“Psst. Hey, you scout there.” The voice said. As he turned around, he saw a female ranger walk up to him. “You’re going to want these,” she whispered as she thrusts something into his hands. 

Twigs. A bundle of twigs. When he looked back up, she vanished preventing him from asking what in the name of Belore was going on. 

As the scout continued further in, all activity ceased. Gone was the sound of fletching. Silent was the gentle sound of the knife rendering the meat from a kill. The camp was eerily quiet.

He took a few more quiet steps before drawing his ears back in pure dread. He located the source of the camps near abandonment on the far side. He prayed for silence to return or anything else to drown out the noise. 

He modified his steps to be louder and was glad he kept the twigs. He snapped them in half trying to remember how not to be stealthy. 

There was no doubt from where the sound was originating from as he approached the tent, but to his horror, the moaning didn’t seem to be abating any time soon. He stopped about 30 feet away and started humming to unsuccessfully, drown out the sound. The sound stopped and was replaced by the sound of feet scuffing and the rustling of clothing. He slowly walked over to the Ranger-General’s tent and stopped a few yards away. “Ranger-General, may I enter.”

“You may come in.” 

He hesitated a second before opening the flap and stepping inside. Sylvanas Windrunner’s armor was uncharacteristically disheveled. Her royal blue cloak was wrinkled and dirt stained. She looked far different from the legendary and vain Ranger-General he heard about as a kid. The Stoic Shield of Silvermoon seemed at peace, perhaps happy, despite the approaching war. She seemed human. 

“Ranger-General,” he greeted. He shifted his sight towards the blonde woman beside her. Her purple cloak was equally wrinkled and failed miserably at hiding the bite marks on her neck. He also noted the small, golden bird charm that stood out against her silver anchor and chain. “And Lady Proudmoore,” he added with a soft smile.

He inhaled knowing that he was going to ruin their night. “Unfortunately, I bring bad news.” The Ranger-General’s happiness evaporated. “Lordaeron is lost.” Lady Proudmoore gasped. “King Terenas Menethil is dead. The Scourge has set his sights on Quel'Thalas.”

The Ranger-General’s stoic facade returned. “And the rest of your squadron?”

The scout grimaced and shook his head.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I can give you two weeks to deal with your loss before reassigning you to a new unit.” The scout turned to leave before Sylvanas spoke again, “Remember, if you didn’t survive, we’d have less time to defend our people.” He nodded then left.

After the last steps faded from her hearing, Sylvanas sat down on a wooden bench and breathed in deeply. “I want you to go to Dalaran.”

Jaina moved to join her and countered, “But don’t you think I can help out here.” 

Sylvanas reached for Jaina’s hand and slowly stroked it. Jaina shifted to wrap her arm around Sylvanas and snuggled into her neck.

“I know you can handle yourself, but there will always be a part of me that worries about your safety,” Sylvanas explained. “Besides, I believe you would be better there. The Scourge’s forces are endless.” Sylvanas glanced up at the piles of reports on her desk. “It’s only a matter of time before we run out of men and supplies. What we need is a way to permanently end the undead threat. There’s a small group of mages in Dalaran working to cull the plague, and Dar'Khan Drathir was recently requested to join them.”

Jaina knew that Sylvanas would do anything to protect her, even risk jeopardizing the battle. Plus, despite her doubts, she was a well-qualified mage and had experience around the undeath. “Sure, I guess I could go there and help.”

Sylvanas decided to see if she could lighten the mood and shift it from the dread of the approaching Scourge threat. “Awesome. You can do your nerd thing in Dalaran while I hold off the Scourge.”

Jaina smiled, “Oh so now I’m a nerd.”

“The only nerd I’d like to spend the rest of my life with. You’re far better than those stuffy magisters and nobles.” She kissed her. “Besides, I can’t wait for you to show up that smug bastard Dar'Khan.”

“But what about you? You said it yourself. The Scourge’s forces are endless. What happens if we can’t stop them in time?”

“Don’t worry about me. If the battle turns for the worse, we will fall back behind the elfgates. The last one is powered by the Sunwell and practically impenetrable. The only way to open it is by 3 well-guarded keys. Arthas won’t get past them.”

Jaina sighed as she knew she had to leave soon. Sylvanas embraced her, slowly kissing down her neck. “What’s another few hours? Stay with me a bit longer, dalah'surfal” She tempted. 

“Or how about tomorrow?” Jaina suggested.

Sylvanas smirked, “Even better.”

* * *

Jaina fiddled with her necklace as she reluctantly stepped through the portal and found herself outside of the Dungeons of Dalaran. She heard shuffling behind her before someone gasped, “Jaina? Is that you? How have you been?”

She turned around and was greeted by a dark-haired mage. “Faranell. It’s been a while.” He looked different from the last time she saw him. He now sported a long beard and exchanged his bright mage robes for a more subtle gray one.

“Yes, it has. What brings you around these parts?” He inquired. 

“I was trying to meet up with some mages working on stopping the plague, but it seems like I made a miscalculation.”

“Oh no. You’re at the right place,” he uttered.

Faranell seemed off. The fun-loving and curious man she knew as a student seemed dead. In his place was a shadow of his former self as if he was greatly disturbed by something. 

He led her inside the dungeon and turned down a darkened hallway and stopped at a dead end. He muttered an incarnation and the wall shifted revealing a hidden underground passage. “After you Lady Proudmoore,” he gestured. 

Jaina descended the sconce lit stairs. She was disturbed by the lack of a strong magical presence. The faint traces of magic she did perceive was tainted with necromantic energy. At the bottom of the stairs, she was greeted by a startled elven mage. He was relatively beautiful but not as pretty as a certain elven ranger. The elf’s face was twisted with disdain as he peered at her. 

“Dar'Khan Drathir, I assume.” 

“Indeed, and you are?” he sneered. His eyes shot up to Faranell looking for an answer.

“This is Lady Jaina Proudmoore,” Faranell introduced, “She came here to help us.”

“Oh, great more humans,” he scoffed, “That moron Putress and now her.” Dar'Khan stormed out shoving Faranell away from the exit and into the wall. 

“Don’t mind him,” he said as he dusted off his robe, “I’ll show you around.” 

He led Jaina into the main room with two large support pillars. Attached to them were rusty chains. Underneath were ankle restraints. To the side of the room were tables filled with an assortment of random magical potions and artifacts. Faranell stopped at the right table and gestured to a petri dish. “This is an isolated plague sample. Careful around it.” He continued and pointed to the back wall. It was covered in pinned notes and scrawling handwriting. “And this is where we’re keeping all our notes.”

Jaina paused to look at the notes. It was a combination of sloppy handwriting she identified as Faranell’s, the flowing script she assumed was Dar’Khan’s, and the third set she guessed was Putress’s. Jaina’s eyes flicked to the corner where she picked up on the stench of death. There was a large holding cell. 

Jaina narrowed her eyes and turned back to Faranell. There was no denying what was taking place here. “Explain yourse--”

The sound of a struggle came from outside of the room. “Where are you taking me?!” someone screamed. 

“Shut up!” Someone growled, shoving the man down the stairs. 

“Watch it!” Another voice grunted. 

Jaina recognized Dar’Khan’s annoyed voice, “Will both of you morons shut up.” 

The men entered the room. A tall, lanky man was in front and lead the struggling, blindfolded prisoner to the center of the room to the pillars. The man behind him was covered in long dark robes. He kept his face covered by a black hood and a long tan bandanna. “Oh. We have company.” He held out his hand, “I’m Putress. Miss...”

“Lady Proudmoore,” she responded ignoring his hand. 

“It’s my pleasure to meet you, Lady Proudmoore. I’ve heard a lot about you from Faranell. I’m sure you’ve met my associates. That ass over there is Dar’Khan.” Dar’Khan tisked in response. Putress gestured with his head over the pillars and continued, “And that man over there is Middleton.”

Middleton finished binding the man’s hands to the pillars and started working on the ankle restraints. The man lashed out in vain to kick Middleton as he clicked the last restraint. With the man tightly secured, Middleton removed the man’s blindfold.

The man’s eyes snapped about the room and caught sight of the strange concoctions before his eyes finally landed on Jaina. “Please, help me,” He begged, “I have a family. A wife and kids. Please, miss, please!”

Jaina heard someone chuckling behind her and glanced back to see Dar’Khan leaning against a wall. Enraged Jaina started to channel the arcane to end the disgusting operation. 

Faranell cried, “Jaina, please don’t!” 

Jaina’s blue eyes crackled with the arcane energy. Her long blonde hair fluttered in the charged air. The room’s temperature dropped 10 degrees. She saw ice crystals form on the glassware.

“Jaina, please let me explain,” he pleaded. 

She wanted to believe her friend wasn’t gone, that he wasn’t involved in unethical experimentations, despite all the evidence. Against her better judgment, Jaina stopped summoning her spell and allowed it dispel harmlessly into the air. The magic slowly receded back into the surroundings. 

Tired of the oppressive necromantic energy and Dar’Khan’s smug face, Jaina stormed out of the room.  
Faranell started, “I know everything looks bad, but it's for the greater good.”

“What you’re doing is illegal!” she hissed, “Not to mention unethical.”

“I know. But I wouldn’t be a part of this if I didn't think it would help. This could save us. If we find the cure, it would be worth it.”

“But at what cost? That man has a family.”

“He had a family,” he countered, “That man is a monster! He’s here because he killed his two children and his wife.”

“How are you any better?! You plan on killing and raising him.”

His face contorted in anger, fist clenched, eye twitching. “Tha-”

A scream sounded from the other room startling both of them. His eyes widened in shock, snapping him out of his anger.

Jaina and Faranell sprinted back into the main room where Putress and Dar’Khan were observing the test subject. 

The man convulsed against his restraints. He snarled and spewed curses at the mages. His coughing cut him off from saying more. The man coughed harder, throwing up blood. The blood pooled below him, and suddenly he went lax in his restraints. 

Putress snapped his fingers and ordered Middleton to check for a pulse. He shook his head. The man was definitely dead. 

Jaina stood horrified at the sudden, gruesome death. 

Within minutes, the room shook raining gravel and dust down on the mages. A dark and unholy force poured in from all directions. The candles flickered and then died. Jaina started to utter an incantation to relight the room. Before she finished, the candles roared back to life. The blood at the man’s feet rose and swirled about him. It mingled with the shadows, and together they swirled about before plunging into the man’s warm, yet lifeless body. 

With a snarl, the man awoke from his slumber. Putress had moved to one of the tables and reached for one of the jars. He took out an arrow and coated it the bright green substance. Carefully he loaded the arrow into a bow and inelegantly fired it at his undead specimen.

The arrow hit its mark. The green serum crackled on contact. It sizzled, but the undead man was left unharmed. 

Putress tisked, “I was sure it would work. Middleton, log it. Experimental serum 73 is a bust. Faranell, you know what to do.”

Faranell looked away as he conjured a massive fireball to dispose of the failed experiment. 

“Why not keep it around? You don’t have to turn more.” Jaina said gagging and staring at the smoldering remains. 

“Do you know nothing about experiments?” Dar’Khan sarcastically remarked while jotting down notes on the board. “We can’t have unaccounted variables with the experiment. We wouldn’t know if it was the second serum or a combination of the two.” He stopped writing, “Well, I think that's enough for today. Let’s take a break and come back tomorrow.” He ushered them out of the room.

* * *

Jaina strained to adjust her eyes in the setting sun when she noticed Faranell approaching her. 

“I’m sorry,” he started, “I should have lied to you. You never should've been down there in the first place. I-”

Jaina cut him off, “Does Dar’Khan seem off to you?”

“Uh. B-by what do you mean?” he stuttered.

“Beyond his usual smugness. Why did you call for him to join your group?”

“What? We didn’t. He came to us. He offered to join us after we were tasked by King Menethil himself.”

“Why? He’s a pain in the ass.”

“Yes, that he is. But he helped us reorganize our notes and gave us some advice.” he paused, noticing the sun setting. “Would you like me to walk you to your residency, Lady Proudmoore?”

“No, but thank you.”

“Alright then and also I sorry our meeting couldn’t have been under better circumstances.”

* * *

After Faranell left, Jaina opened a portal back into the experiment room. With a snap, she re-lit the candles. As she walked over to the board, she noticed something she didn’t pick up on before. Hidden under the taint of the necromantic energy was the faint traces of arcane magic. Someone was altering the notes. After studying the notes, Jaina snapped her fingers, unraveled the spell. 

The thud of footsteps alerted Jaina to an unexpected visitor. She casted a veil and hid in the darkness. 

The scuffing of boots ceased for a second as the man coughed, rattling the jars he was carrying. Stepping through the door was Putress. He sat the box of goods down before walking over to examine the notes.

He scratched his head. “Strange,” he remarked to no one, “I guess I remembered wrong.” He grabbed the new ingredients and started on a new mixture. “Perhaps, number 74 will be more successful.”

It seemed like Putress, although sinister looking, had nothing to do with the sabotage. Jaina wanted confirmation. She dispelled her illusion and walked up behind him. 

Preoccupied with a coughing fit, he didn’t hear her approach. “Oh, Lady Proudmoore. I’m surprised to see you here at this-” he started coughing again, “late hour. It’s just the dust down here and my dry throat.” He assured her. 

She conjured a glass of water, “So what do you think of Dar’Khan Drathir?” she asked, passing him the glass.

“He’s an ass. I’m not even sure why we still have him around. He does nothing but order us around like he runs the operation. We’re fine without him, disorganized but fine.” He paused to take a sip. “It’s strange how he got here. If this was public knowledge, the people would riot and stir up a panic. Yet somehow, he knew where to come. Elves and their pesky hearing, amiright?” 

Jaina ignored his comment concentrating on the contradiction. Sylvanas said that Dar’Khan was summoned to Dalaran. On the other hand, both Faranell and Putress stated that he was an unexpected addition to the team. If Terenas called in Dar’Khan, no one would have known. However, it was unlikely that he would request help from outside of the Alliance and forget to inform the group. 

He continued, “Since you’re here, perhaps you’d like to go over the notes. With luck, this could be the last one.” He placed a cork on a flask and twirled the green mixture around. “So far we’ve found a way to reduce the amount of time the plague needs to be active. It used to take roughly 3 days, and we’ve cut it down to a few minutes. Normally, that would be alarming, but we figured we could somehow use that to make a fast-acting poison.” 

Jaina looked over the notes before adding her own suggestions to their research. She was more consumed with addressing the Dar’Khan problem. 

“Beyond burning the body, completely incinerating it, it's hard to stop them from being raised again. I mean it is possible for mages to stop the undead, but it would be exhausting and in futility. Not to mention the unpleasant smell of burning flesh and psychological trauma. If this works, normal soldiers could stop the undead and end the Scourge threat...” he trailed off, “Lady Proudmoore?”

“Dar’Khan is a traitor. He’s been sabotaging your efforts. He casted a spell to alter the notes and throw you off track, so you would go down a road of unsuccessful experiments.”

Putress’s eyes narrowed, his brows furrowed. “That bastard. I could have sworn the notes were different, but I chalked it up to my lack of sleep.” He growled, “When he comes in tomorrow, he’ll regret crossing me and ruining my research.”

* * *

When Dar’Khan finally sauntered in late, as usual, he found himself forcefully grabbed. Putress and Middleton grabbed him from both sides, dragged him across the room, and tossed him to the magically reinforced holding cell. Jaina and Faranell stood off to the side.

“Dar’Khan, you sick son of a bitch,” Putress growled, “How could you?! You derailed our research and cost us countless lives.”

“You know they’re were slated for execution.” 

“But they didn’t have to die that way!” he yelled, grabbing at Dar’Khan’s cloak and yanking him into the bars. 

“Enough,” Jaina interrupted. Reluctantly, Putress let go and backed away still glaring daggers at him. As much as Jaina liked seeing Dar’Khan getting what he deserved, she needed answers. “Why sabotage them?” 

He chuckled, “Why wouldn’t I? I think it's hilarious to think you could stop the Scourge. After all, death conquers everything.”

“Your people are counting on this. They’re fighting to keep Quel'Thalas safe.” 

He laughed, “My people were doomed. Besides even if I wanted to its far too late for them.”

Jaina messed with her necklace. Her fingers wrapped the golden charm. Her eyes widened as she unconsciously clenched her fist cutting her hand open. The gates! Sylvanas.

Dar’Khan cracked an all-knowing smirk. Within a blink of an eye, Jaina summoned a portal and vanished leaving the mages alone to deal with him. 

Putress started coughing again. He felt dampness under his scarf smearing on his chin. He noticed the growing dark spot as he slowly maneuvered his hand under the scarf to example the source. He pulled back his hand. Blood covered it. He faintly heard someone lightly coughing behind him. He narrowed his eyes at the prisoner, “Why?”

“Oh. I’m how did you put it…” he dramatically trailed off, fixing his ruffed-up robe. “Oh, that’s right a sick son of a bitch.” He leaned into the bars, “But my friend, it looks like you’re the sick one.” He tisked, “You just couldn’t resist a free drink, could you.”

* * *

Jaina’s portal placed her in the middle of the battlefield. The Rangers were holding their own against the undead, but they were clearly running out of stamina and supplies. An undead soldier raised his sword in an effort to attack her. Jaina effortlessly froze him and launched his frozen form across the field, knocking his comrades down and shattering into millions of icy shards. 

Straining to see across the way, Jaina spotted Sylvanas fighting against the one man, the monster, she never wanted to see again, Arthas Menethil. Sylvanas seemed distracted, looking everywhere else, blind to the immediate danger surrounding her, especially the one directly in front of her. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Arthas’s movement. He pulled his sword back low to his waist preparing to toss his sword to strike down Sylvanas. 

At the sword’s speed, it was unlikely that Sylvanas would notice and move out of the way in time. Jaina did the only thing sensible to her, to blink in front of the projectile.

With a sickening crunch, Frostmourne pierced her chest, cracking her ribs, jutting out from her back. Jaina heard two voices scream out her name. Sylvanas seemed to materialize by her side. Sobbing, she helped ease Jaina down to the ground. 

Fading in and out of consciousness, Jaina could hear her desperate pleading as she tried in vain to stop the immense amount of blood loss. She could feel the warm blood flowing out of her. “Sylvanas,” she choked, “I want you to know that I--”

A strong yet slightly rattled voice called out, “Well, I never expected this! What great fortune I have.” Arthas had slowly stalked over and stood a few feet away. “To have another recruit.” He grabbed Frostmourne’s hilt and wrenched it from her body. Extending his free hand, Arthas summoned his unholy, necromantic powers. “Arise, Jaina! And join me!”

Jaina felt the land quake beneath her as if it rejected the necromantic taint. She felt the distant call of the Sunwell, its power collecting and combining with the nearby ley lines. The dark magic spun around her, lifting her up in the air. Jaina felt the unnatural magic crawl across her rapidly cooling body, transforming her skin into an abnormal mint green. She felt the frost boring deep into her very being, chilling her soul, and clouding her mind in a frigid fog.

In the mana drenched air, her hair blew around her, white with a streak of purple. Landing, Jaina restored her clothing, the purple of her outfit shifted into a deep royal blue. Flicking her icy blue eyes across the battlefield, Jaina felt annoyed and with a huff slammed her staff into the ground. The excess mana surged into the ground, rumbling.

The land erupted spraying large chunks of earth flying into the remaining combatants. Following the destruction was an almost deafening inhuman scream resounding across the battlefield.

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it this far reading my crappy writing, drop by and say something. Not sure if I could ever do this justice but I wanted to try. Depending on the response I might continue. I still hoping for someone else (more qualified) to gift us Frost Lich Jaina. <3
> 
> Also Happy Chinese New Year!


End file.
